the journal of a drinker with a running problem…

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three shitty things that happened this week

1. Our air conditioner is all shot to shit and we have to buy a new one.

Now, I don’t mind sitting around a sauna-house all day. Because sweat-loss pounds are just as good as actual weight-loss pounds. But the baby gets cranky when she sweats. Such a princess. Ordinarily, we’d just take this opportunity to shack up at the Hilton for a week or so, but somebody decided raising a child would be more rewarding than rolling around in piles of discretionary income all day long.

Long story short, I was forced to sell my body in exchange for a new AC. I won’t tell you what vile acts I had to perform, but lets just say the touch-screen thermostat was extra. I feel so dirty. Cool, but dirty.

I thought it was all better, even had the best 4 mile stroller run of my life, and then Wednesday evening, I was walking down the hall and just kind of rolled over the side of my foot weird and heard a pop! followed by immediate excruciating pain 10 times worse than the initial injury. And now I really can’t run. I can hardly walk.

Swimming has been my only option, and even kicking my legs in the pool made the toe angry. But it does finally feel a smidge better today, so I think I might try going for a little jog. I am unreasonably optimistic about this and will most likely end up disappointed. What’s worse: the weather has been absolutely incredible the past few days and I haven’t been able to take advantage of it.

3. I somehow walked out of Target less one of my grocery bags, which included MY COFFEE. Imagine my surprise Friday morning when I hurried into the kitchen after nursing the baby–my motivation for nursing the baby at the buttcrack of dawn while I’m still half asleep is my one giant cup of reward coffee–only to find no coffee.

I got the runaround on the phone, but when I went back to the store, they were actually really nice and gave me the benefit of the doubt that I wasn’t just trying to scam them out of some coffee, rice, cheese and chicken stock. (Oh, and I just remembered I’m also missing four bottles of wine, some frosting, chicken wings, chocolate milk, pork tenderloins…) Even though my hair was dirty and I was wearing flip-flops because my gimp toe won’t go into a shoe just yet.

Yes, I suppose I could look at the bright side and say all’s well that ends well, but I think people who say that are assholes.